


Coins From the Air

by epkitty



Category: American Gods - Neil Gaiman, Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-28
Updated: 2011-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-16 00:31:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epkitty/pseuds/epkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere in his journey, Shadow discovers London Below.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coins From the Air

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Tarot card 01, The Magician. Even though I love these books, it’s been a while since I’ve read them, so some of the details are hazy. Forgive me, then, for any irregularities.
> 
> This may or may not be based on a true story.
> 
> (AN: slightly edited 4/1/14)

Shadow had learned a great deal in his relatively short life, so he was both surprised and completely unfazed when he ended up in a part of London that wasn’t quite, well, London.

The sewers crawled with a sort of people unlike any he'd ever seen in his life, and he had seen a great many kinds of people, from common prisoners and Indian girls to gods and Irish faeries. But the sewer people were altogether different. Also, he couldn’t quite remember how he’d gone from the most touristy corner of Soho to a place considerably darker, wetter, and more sinister.

“Allo there, you’re new here, eh?”

Shadow squinted into the shadows to make out the form of a curveless young woman with long stringy hair and huge, dark eyes.

She went on. “Not from around here. Not just Upworld, I mean; you’re from a long way away.”

“Yes,” Shadow grudgingly agreed. “Not actually sure how I got… where am I, exactly?”

“Below,” she said, and turned away, sloshing through the water before kneeling down in the filth. “’Ere then, where’s a friend for me? Where’s a friend for dear Richard? Ah.” She rose and returned to Shadow, carrying something dark in her hand.

Shadow didn’t quite flinch. “That’s a rat.”

“Of course,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Eh, what’s your name, stranger?”

Shadow knew the power a name had, knew he shouldn’t give it freely, but he sensed nothing evil about the girl. “Shadow,” he admitted.

“Find dear Richard,” she told the rat, “tell him we’ve a guest, a guest named Shadow.” She released the rat then and when she stood again, smiled up shyly at the tall stranger.

“So what’s your name?” he asked.

“Euthanasia.”

“I—I’m sorry?”

“My mother thought it was a beautiful word,” she said.

Shadow couldn’t tell if she was ignorant of its meaning or not.

“Hungry?” she asked, pulling a brown apple core from a ragbag slung over her shoulder.

Shadow swallowed thickly. “No. Thank you.”

= = = = =

Euthanasia led Shadow all day along the near-pitch black paths that lined the underworld. “My sort aren’t usually so adventurous as me,” she confessed, warming to the large, quiet man who followed her. “They say I’m lucky,” she went on, with an ironic twist to her thin lips. “'Ere we are, then.” She pushed open an ancient wooden door to lead them out to a brightly lit Tube station, completely devoid of people. “Mind the gap!” she shouted as Shadow strolled forward to take a look at the track.

At the insistent tugging on his long jacket, Shadow retreated to stand along the white tiled wall with her. He could see her better in the cruel fluorescent light, her protruding cheekbones, the dark circles under wide, fretting eyes. There was barely a clean inch of skin anywhere on her, from what he could see outside of the loose, baggy dress and overcoat she wore. Her feet were lost in boots two sizes too big. She smiled weakly at him. “It’s a monster,” she explained. “It’s easy to forget that Upworlders wouldn’t know. Lots of things are different here. I’m told. If you don’t know how you got here, if it was that easy, maybe…” She tilted her head, listening to the heavy air.

“Maybe what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The train’s coming now.”

Shadow listened until he too could hear the approaching subway. _Trains_ they were called here, he had to remind himself.

When the rickety, creaking train pulled up and the double doors slid apart, Euthanasia took a running leap from the wall into the car, and beckoned Shadow to follow. Feeling a little ridiculous, Shadow took a running start to jump in after her, landing amidst what appeared to be a merry band of players right out of a Robin Hood story. Ancient gaslights and dripping candles cast uneven, yellow light about the place. There was even a fireplace. Hay was scattered underfoot and platters of food were being passed about. Euthanasia stuffed her thin face with dirty handfuls of fresh grapes as the train lurched into motion once more. “Where’s the Earl?” she asked a tall player who wore parti-colored trousers and nothing else.

“Sleeping,” was the answer. “But we’ll get you where you need to go. Who’s this?”

“Shadow,” Euthanasia said between mouthfuls. “I’m taking him to dear Richard.”

“Oh? Going to bother him about something like this, then? Don’t know that he’ll appreciate it, you know. Bringing some stray in. He’s got better things to do.”

“There’s something special about him,” Euthanasia said. “Besides, he’ll see me.”

The tall, bare-chested man smiled indulgently. “It’s true he’s a soft spot for you rat-speakers. All right, then. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he finished as the train rolled to a halt and Euthanasia shoved as much food into her pockets as she could before pulling Shadow off the train and into darkness once more.

Pitch blackness surrounded them, and Shadow had a lingering thought for the food aboard the train after a day of walking underground before he latched onto the rat girl for the only thing of substance in the dark. “Can you see?” he asked her.

“Not exactly,” she said, but she didn’t sound worried.

Shadow gave no reply and let Euthanasia sneak her hand into his to lead him forward.

= = = = =

When a door finally creaked open before them, a very little light filtered down from somewhere above, but after the thick blackness, the light seemed bright as day. They entered a long hall crawling with people and rats who peered at them from their lopsided homes and hid behind concrete pillars and iron rebar. A trail of skinny, dirty children quickly gathered to follow, winding in a long tail behind them as they moved closer to a source of cheery yellow light that always seemed just around the corner.

Whispers skittered about the darkness, but Shadow was not afraid, knowing that he was the stranger here, the menace.

Finally, they reached an open place, a rough circle of ancient stone floor with a few scattered candles and a wobbly wooden chair with a man seated on it. The man was clothed in black with ragged cuffs and boots, and carried a knife at his belt. Dark hair crowned his head like an inverse halo in the strange light and he smiled in what Shadow considered to be a threatening manner.

A key hung about his neck on a piece of twine.

“This is Richard,” Euthanasia said. “He’s been looking after us since Lord Rat-Speaker died last year.”

“Someone’s got to keep an eye on the rat children,” Richard said fondly, standing to approach Euthanasia and lay an affectionate hand on her head.

“This is Shadow,” she said, playfully batting at his hand.

“And who’s he when he’s at home?”

She shrugged and bit her lower lip. “He looked like he needed help. I thought he was special.”

“Our girl thought Shadow was special, huh? All right then. Go tend to your family and I’ll show Shadow around our home.”

Euthanasia ran off with a little bob that might have been a curtsey, shooing away the children that had followed them.

Richard turned and called out to the darkness, “Oxbridge.”

A man black as pitch and dressed in old-fashioned scholars’ robes stepped into the light. He loomed thick as a bull and looked just as friendly.

“You’re to put out a message. Tell the Lady Door of our guest, and send for the Marquis.”

The silent man bowed and retreated from the stone circle. Once his shuffling footsteps faded, they were left with nothing but the gray-yellow light and hushed whisperings.

The men looked at each other.

Shadow examined Richard. He exuded an air of calm confidence and pride that Shadow had no desire to test. A softer face would have been less handsome.

Whatever Richard thought was not readable on his face.

“What’s your story, then?” Richard asked.

“It’s a long one,” Shadow told him. “But that’s all in the past now.”

“Hm. And what do you think our world Below?”

“What I’ve seen of it is... a bit of a puzzle.”

This made Richard laugh for the first time, and the rumbling laughter echoed through the chamber and settled like a gentle blanket of peace over a place so often devoid of it.

“Come along, then, Shadow, and meet the rat-speakers.”

“Are you… one of them?”

For a moment as they stood on the cusp of the candlelight, Richard just smiled and then reached a hand out to a winding column that jutted up from the cracked stone floor. A rat appeared from the darkness and crept along his arm to perch on his shoulder, nose twitching and whiskers brushing gentle whispers against the lower lobe of Richard’s ear. Richard said, “You might say I’ve developed an aptitude for it.”

The rat remained huddled at Richard’s inner shoulder, tucked neatly along his slender neck.

Richard took them into the darkness, inviting the dirty, white-faced people to come out from their nooks and crannies to see the enigma that Euthanasia had found amongst the Sewer Folk.

“Are you sure it’s safe…” Shadow overheard a mumbled whisper and Richard stepped deftly aside to speak with the ancient men who seemed permanently attached to the rickety stools that bore their weight with question.

Not wishing to eavesdrop, Shadow wandered away to an open space where the children were playing a quiet game like hopscotch. They stopped at the stranger’s approach, elbowing each other and pointing.

Shadow smiled and then looked away, as though uninterested. He tucked his hands in his pockets and hunched up his shoulders as though cold. He pulled his hands from his pockets and cupped them to his mouth, blowing hot breath over rough fingers. When he lowered his hands, he examined his palms with brows drawn together as though confused. Then he revealed a tarnished silver coin that had appeared there.

The children gasped.

Shadow took a step closer and showed them the 50p coin. “Did you see where this came from?” he asked, all confusion. “Oh, I think there might be anoth-” He interrupted himself with a sneeze. Suddenly, three coins were rattling in his palm. He slipped them into his pocket and stepped up to one of the open-mouthed children. “Hey, you’ve got one, too,” he said, pulling a coin out from behind the girl’s ear.

She shrieked in surprise and then showed a brilliant, toothy smile when Shadow handed her the coin.

“Magician! He’s a magician!”

The children crowded round and Shadow made them sneeze or cough into his hand, pulled coins from their ears and mouths, handing out the 50p pieces to each.

“The stranger; he can do magic!”

A small pocket of chaos had erupted as the children scurried off to horde their treasure away, bringing other spindle-legged children back to witness the miracle.

Hurried rumors scuttled about the place, rising like a fever.

Before long, Shadow saw a familiar face wade it’s way through the happy children.

The children let Euthanasia through, and Shadow saw her hopeful face shining white in the dark, with a bundle clutched desperately to her chest. She trembled when she stood before him. “The children say you’re magic. Can you heal him? Can you heal my son?”

Shadow’s stomach churned as she held the too-small baby out to him, and Shadow felt something like his usual steadiness drop out from under him.

It wasn’t until Shadow took the baby in cautious hands that he understood the child had been born without arms. A look of miserable impotence quickly replaced the expression of terror at the realization. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I can’t do that kind of magic.” Shadow stood still for a moment, undecided. Then he cradled the child in one arm and carefully peeled back the tattered blanket with a large hand to examine the baby. After a thorough search, he inexpertly swaddled it up once more, kissed the little forehead, and handed the light bundle back to Euthanasia. “You won’t know why this child has been born until he reaches his twenty-first year.”

Euthanasia nodded without speaking, her bright eyes seeming to have grown even larger with wonder. She cradled the child close and turned back home. Once the children had dispersed back into the shadows, Richard suddenly spoke in Shadow’s ear, “You don’t do that kind of magic either. Why did you tell her that?”

Shadow hadn’t been consciously aware that Richard was so close, but he didn’t jump either, as though he knew intrinsically that he was safe here.

“Because now that child has a chance. A future. She will give him the best care she can, and they will live in hope. It will ease her burden, the expectation.”

“It likely won’t survive its first winter,” Richard said. “Not down here.”

Shadow had no reply to give.

“Euthanasia says she found you among the Sewer Folk. How did you get Below?”

“I’m not sure,” Shadow said, turning to meet Richard’s intelligent gaze.

“What do you remember?”

“I’d just got into the city. I was walking. In Soho. I stopped in a shop for breakfast, but I hadn’t slept all night. I sat down on a park bench… I must have fallen asleep… I remember someone—I remember! A hand was going through my pockets. I ran after a figure down an alley…”

“Hmm. Would you like me to take you back? You’ve been here barely a day. It would be easy enough to take you back Above.”

“There’s nothing for me up there,” Shadow said without a trace of emotion. It was simple fact. “Listen, I’ve seen some strange shit in my time, so this place doesn’t surprise me as much as it should, maybe. But it does…”

Richard smiled a crooked smile. “It has its charms,” he said. “Tends to grow on you. You must be exhausted. Let’s find a place for you to sleep.”

Richard wended his way between the makeshift homes of camp tents, garbage bags, and cardboard boxes. “I’d like to think I can offer a guest more amenable facilities. At least for a night. The Lady Door may have an idea what to do with you, but she won’t be here til morning at least, and the Marquis de Carabas may not show up at all.”

“De Carabas? Like the fairytale with the cat?”

Richard just smiled as he led them among twisting black tunnels and ladders, scattered here and there with curious rats.

Shadow could likely never find his way back alone. “How do you find your way?” he asked after countless twists and turns along apparently random tunnels and doorways, most of which were indistinguishable from one to the next.

“Oh, it becomes instinct after a while,” Richard assured him. “And something the Lady Door may help you with. Here we are.” Richard stopped in the middle of a long, empty, dark, dank, narrow tunnel. Shadow supposed there were more adjectives to describe the tunnel. He was considering listing them when Richard dropped to his knees and pried a trap door up out of what seemed to be solid brick. Richard dangled his long legs into the dark hole, smiled up at Shadow, and fell.

Shadow could see nothing but the empty, gaping square.

“Do shut the door behind you,” Richard called from what could have been a long way off, but Shadow wasn’t sure.

In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought, and sat himself down on the ledge. He tucked his fingers into a handle on the underside of the trapdoor and let himself fall.

Shadow couldn’t be sure what he landed on, except to say that he landed, and a gentle yellow light seemed to flare up around him. He stepped toward it, finding himself in a decadent sort of room that seemed to have elements of every style that had ever flourished in England since it’s inception.

Carpets of every color and description layered the stone floor. Faded tapestries adorned the wall beside ancient sconces and cheap, yard-sale paintings. Lamps and beaded trinkets hung from the low ceiling, as did a plethora of objects Shadow suspected had washed down one sewer or another: tools, garden ornaments, anything that had an element of color or shine seemed to have been strung up on yarn or wire.

There were ancient trunks with rotting leather hinges, Chippendale chairs, clunky barstools, an ugly orange couch leaking yellowed stuffing, and a four-poster bed strung up with red bed curtains and sheets the colors of iron and rust.

Every surface was crowded with something: books stacked on the floor in unlikely towers, old boots and bicycle wheels piled in the corner, coins and jewels stuffed in a lopsided desk’s pigeonholes, hats and an old smoking jacket cast over the couch.

And while Shadow’s eyes didn’t quite know what to look at first, he couldn’t help but notice the spear hanging in what appeared a place of honor above the bed. A spear that appeared to be not quite cleansed of blood.

“It’s…” Shadow couldn’t come up with an accurate word for what it was.

Richard just smiled a slow, cat smile. If Shadow had met the Marquis, he would have known where Richard had learned that smile.

“It’s something else is what it is. But it’s mine. It’s one of the first things that’s ever really felt like mine. I’ve got some food round about…”

Shadow shrugged off his coat, for it was quite warm, and watched Richard retrieve two plates from behind a stone in the wall, and while Shadow was skeptical of where the food had come from, he was hungrier than he could recall being in a very long time.

Since there was no place to sit, the men crawled onto the bed. Richard lay on his side, eating delicately with his long fingers, while Shadow cradled his plate on crossed legs and shoveled the food into his mouth with a three-pronged fork of dubious origins.

It was delicious.

He nearly licked his plate clean before Richard took it away, setting the empty plates and utensils back behind the stone in the wall. In the butter-light that seemed to oscillate from squinting-dim to flaring-clear, Shadow watched Richard pour two glasses of amber liquor.

They sat amiably on the bed as the candles and lamps went out one by one.

“Hope you don’t mind sharing,” Richard said as he set aside the glass and shrugged off his clothing. “Just the one bed, you know.”

Shadow didn’t mind.

= = = = =

The End


End file.
